Bounty
by chris steel
Summary: short story about getting a bounty and meeting Boba Fett


"What did you do?" Denton Scheff demanded, sprinting after her.  
  
Gwen, panting, threw herself around a corner. He followed, narrowly avoiding a red blaster bolt. "I left you alone for two minutes!" The other man's eyes flashed as they leapt into her speeder. "Who's trying to kill you?"  
  
She punched the engine on and roared down the street. "Um," she said, watching the rearview display. The trio of men stood at the entrance of the alley, firing after her as she sped away. "You remember that fat Tlaax guy you said to stay away from?"  
  
"Skrell," Denton said, looking a little more alarmed than she would have liked. "Gwen, that was Yer Trafis'sad."  
  
"So? Who's that?" She yanked the wheel, forcing Denton to grab the seat to stay in the speeder. "Buckle your webbing."  
  
He fastened the restraints across his chest, then said, "Don't you watch the news? Of course you don't. He runs the mob, Gwen— he owns half the fringe in this sector."  
  
"Maybe I shouldn't have kicked him in the crotch, then."  
  
Denton started cursing in a variety of languages, none of which she understood. "Gwen," he groaned when he could speak Basic again.  
  
"Hey, he deserved it," she said sullenly. "He *licked* me. What was I supposed to do, go in the back with him?"  
  
"You didn't have to HURT him! We have to leave the planet. Now. Head to the spaceport."  
  
"What about you?"  
  
"They got a good look at me, Gwen, and not only did you offend the Yer, you beat the hell out of two of his guards. I'm getting as far from here as I can."  
  
"Frek!" Gwen punched the steering wheel. "Frek, frek, frek! Why does these things always happen to me? And don't you dare say it's my fault! I didn't know the frekking pervert was a *crime boss*!"  
  
"I don't know why you always find the seediest cantina on the planet to waste your time," Denton retorted. "You must *like* getting into trouble."  
  
"Yeah. Just love it." She increased the speed slightly as the dinky spaceport came into sight. "Any idea what to do now?"  
  
"Leave the sector, hope he can't find us, and never come back."  
  
"But the Academy—"  
  
Denton snorted. "What do you care about the Academy? You only came because your grandfather made you, and he's dead now."  
  
"I *don't* care," she said. "But *you* do."  
  
"Well, I'll get over it."  
  
"Maybe he'll forget in a few days."  
  
"Few years," Denton replied. "Forget it, Gwen. Slow down and find a cantina. There should be pilots for hire."  
  
"I have a ship."  
  
Denton gave her an impatient look. "Do you want him to track us? Be serious."  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
  
A week later, they were on Coruscant— Imperial Center, the Empire was calling it. Denton was out, trying to find one of the Imperial 'friends' he claimed to have. Gwen stayed in her hotel room, feeling guilty and wondering what to do next.  
  
The annunciator buzzed. Denton was the only person who would be visiting her. She ran from the bathroom, still in a towel. Maybe he *had* found someone to help. Going to the door controls, she cued it open.  
  
Her visitor wasn't Denton. A man in Mandalorian armor stood outside, a blaster rifle in his hand. "Inside," the filtered voice said.  
  
"Holy Sith," she breathed, staring in astonishment. "You're Boba Fett!"  
  
He lifted the blaster fractionally. "Oh, right. Inside," she said, backing up several steps. He walked in, and the door hissed shut. This wasn't quite the meeting she had anticipated. The blaster didn't waver.  
  
"I don't suppose there's any chance you're not here for that stupid mob guy?"  
  
Fett ignored her question. "Where is Scheff?"  
  
"At the Imperial Palace," she said, lying easily. "He's got some Imp friend that was going to help us. Too late, I guess."  
  
"Sit," he said.  
  
She sat herself obediently on the bed, cursing the fact that she had no weapon. "Are you going to kill me yourself, or give me to that stupid Tlaax?"  
  
He said nothing.  
  
"Um," she said. "I have a lot of money. My friend really didn't do anything. It's my fault— he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. How much would it take for you to let him go?"  
  
"The contract is for both of you."  
  
"Then how much for the both of us?"  
  
"I fulfill my contracts."  
  
Gwen felt numb. All these years, she had wanted to meet this man. And he was a droid. She looked down at her olive-skinned hands. Her mother had, before her death, pale, porcelain skin—none of her relatives had her brown skin and dark hair. Looking up at Fett again, her mouth was dry. Why did she feel sick? Knowing that she was going to die for offending some stupid criminal she'd never heard of, or because her naive fantasies had been shattered?  
  
She looked up at him, wondering whether he knew. Whether he cared. She studied him a moment. "If we're going to wait for him anyway," she said, "can I at least get dressed?"  
  
After a brief pause, Fett said, "Leave the door open."  
  
She got up and crossed the five paces to the 'fresher. Ignoring her audience, she dressed quickly, keeping her hands in plain sight the entire time. Turning back toward the room, she made as if to leave.  
  
Instead, she slammed the door and leapt onto the counter, pressing herself into the corner. One foot in the sink, she grabbed a towel and watched as Fett blew the handle off the door and kicked it open. He couldn't see her from outside. She waited until he had stepped into the room, then jumped.  
  
He stepped out of the way like she had been moving in slow motion. She had anticipated that just as he had seemed to anticipate her own move. Using the towel like a net, she brought it down flat over his helmet, then ducked.  
  
Fett whirled around, swinging the blaster rifle at her. It whistled by just over her head. She backed up but didn't run. Running would have been suicide. Instead, she ducked down farther and drove her shoulder into his metal-plated middle. It hurt her more than him, but he was thrown off-balance, hitting the sink.  
  
She had spotted a camouflaged blaster at his hip. She lunged for it.  
  
An armored hand latched around her wrist, and she gasped in pain as he twisted her arm. Throwing her to the floor, he said, "Next time, you die immediately."  
  
"I'll die anyway, won't I?" she retorted. "Boba Fett fulfills his contracts." She got to her feet, ignoring her burning arm. "That fat bastard wanted to rape me. I kneed him and ran. Should I die for that? Should my friend— a friend that didn't even know why I was running until he was nearly shot?"  
  
"That is not my concern."  
  
"Seeing as you're the one responsible for sentencing me for my crime, it damn well *is* your concern."  
  
He was silent. Turned, she went back to the bed and sat down. // I'm sorry, Denton// she thought, gritting her teeth to keep from crying. She refused to cry in front of Fett.  
  
"Do I look like you at all?" she asked after a painful stretch of silence.  
  
There was no response, and Gwen sighed softly. "I've been so stupid," she said. "I even went to Tatooine, looking for you. I wasn't going to talk to you or anything. I just wanted to see you in person."  
  
He just trained his blaster on her. Sighing in irritation, she glared. "Aren't you going to say *anything*? Doesn't this bother you even a little?"  
  
"No."  
  
She cleared her throat. "Would you tell me how much I'm worth, at least?"  
  
"Fifty thousand alive. Slightly less dead."  
  
"Fifty thousand," she echoed. "You'd let someone kill your daughter for fifty thousand credits. And you don't even feel guilty."  
  
His hidden eyes seemed to focus on her. "Enough," he said. "That won't work."  
  
She folded her arms. "Do you remember Moff Leddan's daughter? Jovalee? About my height, white skin, red hair. She would have been eighteen at the time— on Trellis."  
  
There was silence. "Answer me, damn you!" she all but screamed. "Was she that inconsequential that you don't even *remember* her? After what you did, you don't even REMEMBER?"  
  
"That was. . . twenty years ago."  
  
So he did remember her. "It was twenty years ago," she agreed, glaring at him. "I'll be twenty in two months."  
  
He didn't answer. The blaster didn't move. Gods, Grandpa had been right. He told her not to waste time thinking about her father— why had she dug through her mother's old stuff? Plenty of people didn't get along with their fathers; but hers was willing to let her die for fifty thousand credits. It hurt more than she would have expected. She had thought Grandpa had numbed her to callousness. Fett was infinitely worse.  
  
And she was going to die. "I said that I have money," she said. "I don't know how much less you get if I'm dead, but I'll make up the difference. Double it. Triple. Don't give me to him. Please. I know what he does to people. You're still fulfilling your contract if I'm dead." The thought of voluntarily letting someone kill her made her nauseous, but if she was dead, Fett couldn't use her to reel in Denton. Denton could still get away.  
  
"And your friend?"  
  
//Damn. Don't cry, Gwen. Be strong.// "He probably knows you're here by now," she said, hoping against hope that it was true. "Denton's always careful. If you can catch him, you'll have to ask him."  
  
There was another long silence. Then Fett shoved his rifle into a holster built into the armor. "For your mother," he said, turning around. At the doorway, he paused. "And don't get another bounty."  
  
He opened the door and came face-to-face with Denton, his blaster out and aimed at Fett's throat. Fett froze.  
  
"Denton, no," Gwen said quickly. "It's okay— he's leaving."  
  
He didn't look convinced. "For how long?"  
  
"Let him go. Please."  
  
The man hesitated, then stood aside as Fett walked out and disappeared down the hall. "What happened?" Denton demanded, shutting the door. He took her by the arms. "Are you okay? What did he do?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Nothing? Bounty hunters don't follow you to your hotel for nothing." His eyes were searching her from head to feet, looking for damage.  
  
She hugged him tightly. He put his arms around her and said, "I'm sorry. I came as quickly as I could."  
  
"If you had come any quicker, he would have stunned us both and taken us back," she said. "Your timing was fine."  
  
"Gwen." He held her at arm's length. "What did you do?"  
  
"I told him the truth."  
  
"What truth?"  
  
She hesitated, then said, "I told you I never knew my biological father. Well. . . I just met him."  
  
Denton froze, staring at her in shock. "*Boba Fett* is your father? Are you sure?"  
  
"Denton, he just left. What do you think?"  
  
"I think. . . I think you are incredibly lucky that he has something that even resembles a conscience."  
  
She nodded shakily. "You have no idea."  
  
He hugged her again. "Let's find a different hotel."  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
  
Days later, Denton said, "Gwen. Look at this."  
  
She shifted her attention from her datapad to the news program he was watching. "Sith," she said after a moment.  
  
"Trafis'sad is dead," he said, sounding amazed.  
  
"You don't think. . . ."  
  
Denton shrugged. "They said that he had been shot in the. . . you know. Did you mention his intentions to Fett, by any chance?"  
  
"I. . . well, I said that he intended to rape me."  
  
"I'll be damned," Denton said. "Fett, the vengeful father. Amazing." 


End file.
